The Job A Captain America Tale
by Wonder1258
Summary: Alina Ivanova, a talented yet unaccomplished S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and confidante of the Black Widow, is given her first important job: protect and escort Steve Rogers. But how can she protect THE Captain America? And can she put asside her own feelings to get the job done? Captain America/OC
1. Chapter 1

**S.H.I.E.L.D. El Paso, Texas Out Post. 8-4-2011. 17:43.**

There was in the air a sense of deliberation. The kind that keeps you awake like a child on Christmas Eve and looking out every window for new developments, new happenings. As if any second an explosion would rock and rip open the earth. Additional tension came from the lack of windows in the silver bunker. Agent Natasha Romanoff picked her nails in scorn at being relegated basically to the position of a rent-a-cop watch guard. She muttered in Russian to the woman next to her. Agent Alina Ivanova, playing a silent game of solitaire, nodded lightly and occasionally whispered in the affirmative to her compatriot. The pair, along with another nameless set of somebodies, had been instructed to "watch for the phone ringing" by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s go-to "Everyman," Phil Coulson. Natasha, in that bitter Russian saved only for her long-time friend Alina, was quick to illuminate the flaw in his phrasing. Still, she spend the first fifteen minutes of their indefinite sentence staring at the phone set, her ember brow furrowed damage into her pale forehead.

"You know, it could be worse. We could be in Siberia," Alina said to no one in general. It was the first time she'd given more than a "da" and, though they didn't understand her, the somebodies were as mildly baffled as they could hide.

Natasha snickered once and replied, "You're from Siberia."

"I know. And if we were there right now, it would be worse."

Natasha shrugged in philosophical agreement and went back to picking her nails.

There was a slick clock on the wall with no numbers, only two hands that circled aimlessly and purposely slow. Otherwise, the room was a sterile steely silver—a favorite of Fury's. The somebodies were wearing the basic uniform, domineering latex rubber bodysuits. Natasha was wearing the old uniform she'd never gotten rid off and she'd recently lopped off her hair. Alina wore an imported version of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s required set. When the clock began grazing in the area of five or six the pull the all the agents in the room, whether or not they choose to admit it, came to head with the explosive and reverberating clash of the telephone. The four looked on. Natasha, who was the unselected leader of the group, smiled at the motionlessness of the phone. Agent Somebody A, on the second ring, stood up and said, "I think I would like to get it…if you don't mind."

Agent Somebody B nodded in approval. However, in the look, there was something of knowing that set Natasha and Alina on edge. Agent Somebody A stepped up further, smirking. Natasha had positioned herself closed to the phone upon their arrival, pivoted in front of him and snatched up the phone on the tail end of the third ring. The somebodies both sneered violently. Alina stood and placed herself between the two and Natasha. Then they straightened themselves and stood nonchalantly, fanning interest in the call. Natasha, on the other side of the wall of Alina, said into the receiver, "Agent Romanoff."

When she hung up the phone, she pivoted around to the others and said in muffled English, "We all need to step outside, there will be jet waiting for us shortly."

Agent Somebody B said, "What did they say?"

"Just some coordinates. Stupid really," Natasha said, laughing bitterly and rolling her eyes. "A waste of my time."

The somebodies were pacified and turned to the hall. Natasha tapped Alina's arm lightly with three curled fingers. The signal. With impossible agility, though slower than Natasha could have, Alina swiped the legs out from under Agent Somebody B, the larger of the two. He tumbled down unknowingly into his partner. Not complete buffoons, the two took little time to reassemble. Natasha grimaced at her's, her eyes saying that it would have been more efficient to just snap his neck. It would have been more efficient.

Natasha lunged, the only sounds that came were the squealing of her leather suit and the gun-shot crack of Agent Somebody A's clavicle as her foot made impact. He clutched his shoulder and went down on a knee. Somebody B pivoted and ran for the emergency fire axe. "Get him! _Get_ him!" Natasha screamed, wailing her shin into Somebody A's stomach. Somebody A was flailing his arms and kicking, though Natasha wouldn't fall and kicked harder, at one point stepping on his shoulder, maintaining her persistent thrashing. He tried to claw her shin, but he couldn't get through the leather.

Alina, who was more or less standing still, followed Somebody B with her eyes before leaping down the hall to catch him. The only thing that was clear about the somebodies was that they weren't really S.H.I.E.L.D. She didn't know who they were, but from Somebody B's frantic and uncertain movements, from his frequent change of direction down the identical hallways, he moved in a zigzag, like a trapped mouse: delirious with panic. More familiar with even the most outdated of S.H.I.E.L.D. bases, Alina made a bee-line to the somebody, overtaking him despite the size and speed difference. Coming upon him, she launched into the air, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and taking the two of them to the floor.

They rolled around on the floor, back and forth from wall to wall. Crashing their bodies together and into the hard surfaces of their surroundings. Alina gripped the somebody like an anaconda; her shoulders taking the brunt of the damage. Somebody B spat and lit off every four-letter-word he could summon. Taking a new tactic, Somebody B, grasped Alina's arm, which were encircled as closely around him as she could manage and pulled them together to meet them, dislocating her left shoulder. Alina landed a knee, liberated by Somebody B's dedication to ripping her arms off, into his groin. He released her arms and pushed against the wall. Alina lurched to her feet and grasped her shoulders. She launched a kick into his side and grimaced. Somebody B emptied his stomach onto the ground and coughed roughly. He rolled over to face the ceiling, smiling creakily up at her.

Alina, still holding her shoulder, in a ragged voice said, "Who are you? What do you want?"

Somebody B, with all his bloody-mouthed glory, gurgled something incoherent and spat up at Alina. "Kill me, then, little girl," he curdled, "Can you? Get it over with, you can't, can you?"

Alina frowned and said, "You're not good enough."

She pressed her boot into his throat, squeezing out his airway until the somebody stopped struggling and lost consciousness. Alina stood above him, leaving her boot on for as long as she thought would put him out without doing any real damage and then she pressed for ten seconds longer. Just as she was pulling her foot back, a hand shock onto her right arm and yanking her backwards. She whipped around to see Natasha, smirking, "Good job. I thought I was going to have come help."

Alina smiled, "I got it, thanks."

"We should fix that," she said, gesturing to Alina's shoulder.

"Just do it."

"You want me to count to three?"

"Just do it."

After her shoulder was back in place and the somebodies were collected and detained, the helicopter, as Natasha said, was waiting. Agent Coulson was on board and, upon seeing the cuffed men, said, "I didn't expect you could flush them out so quickly."

Natasha shrugged and the two women and their captives boarded the craft. As they flew away, Coulson handed each a folder. Natasha's would send her to Russia, to some crime organization: a glamorous job. For Alina the file was less flashy: the destination was a security job in New York City escorting a man named Steve Rogers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Stark Towers. New York City, New York. 8-8-11. 23:03.**

Pepper Potts had busied herself with idle paperwork to avoid eye contact with Tony. They were gown adults, but they fought like children. Tony Stark was bending a paper clip between his fingers. His eyes were focused on the clear glass table and at his shoes. There were four or five different ideas that were playing out in his mind: 1) How many hours would he need to put in before the suit was fully upgraded 2) How exactly was he going to loop the lighting in his new office 3) JARVIS needed to be worked out, he had a glitch in which he said, "Buyed" in place of "Bought" 4) He needed to meet that Brazilian Model he'd seen on the sport center in the booty shorts 5) How was the weather going to be in two weeks and would it be acceptable for jet skiing on the Hudson.

There was a knock at the door that jolted Pepper from her distraction. Before Tony could coolly _not_ answer, Agent Coulson opened the door, leading with his shoulder like a lineman. He was on the phone and unhappy about it. He rolled his eyes every few minutes, winking at Pepper who'd brightened up with his arrival. Behind him strode Alina, dressed in street clothes: a red dress that made her feel riskier than usual. Tony smiled at her cheekily, looking up and down, grazing over her silky legs. In response, Alina tugged up her camisole, hiding her cleavage. When he hung up the phone, two minutes after they'd entered the room and all were feeling awkward, Coulson turned broadly to Pepper, who stood and, while hugging him, said, "Phil! How are you?"

"Ms. Potts—Pepper, I'm fine. How are you?"

"Oh, you know, baby-sitting," she gestured back to Tony, "How's Kim?"

Coulson shrugged and said, "We've both been busy lately. Lots of work on both our ends."

Pepper agreed hardily and was about to reply when Tony cleared his throat and said, "Coulson, what _are_ you doing here?"

Coulson, with all his middle-aged wisdom, sighed and rubbed his temples, "Stark, I tried to call, but you—"

"Didn't answer, I know, skillful avoidance, wasn't it? New invention—I'm thinkin' of calling it 'Caller I.D.' What do you think?"

Coulson rolled his eyes and motioned for Alina to come forward. Tony stood up and reached out to shake her hand, not leaning over far enough so that Alina would have to lean over the rest of the way so he could peek down. "This is Agent Alina Ivanova, we are here to collect those files I tried to ask for."

"Which files would those be?" Tony said, winking at Alina.

"The files of data your father compiled on the Captain America project."

"I'm not familiar with those—nope, no idea."

Pepper smiled and walked over the filing cabinet and picked up a large box, stuffed with files. "Here, Phil, I went ahead and got this out for you. I checked the message you left—"e

While Phil schmoozed with Pepper, Tony gestured for Alina to sit. "Alina Ivanova," he sing-songed, "that sounds exotic."

"Russian," she replied, looking out the window and wishing for Coulson to hurry.

"Like, ballerina Russian?"

"I grew up in the United States since I was twelve."

"We don't have ballet here?"

Alina didn't answer, just stared.

"What are you doin' working for a schmuck like Coulson? And S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"I'm serving my country."

"That's a lame reason. Not because of that spandex jumpsuit or all that ass you get to kick? Something sexy?"

"Mr. Stark, I can't begin to know what _you_ would find sexy."

Tony leaned back in his chair so that his peppered hair flatted on the glass and grinned cheekily, "Oh, I bet you could probably guess."

Alina furrowed her eyebrows, but snickered under her breath, "We're looking for the files your father kept on Steve Rogers—you know, Captain America?"

"My father," Tony grumbled, standing up, walking over to the crystal liquor table, and poured himself a glass of slick, amber cognac, "kept files on everything. And he had a particular attachment to scribbling notes about that Captain America. Why?"

Alina glanced over at Coulson who was propped up against a filing cabinet, James Dean style, chatting up Pepper. "Have you done any looking into the case?"

"Anastasia, I stay as far away from my father as I can. Now, looking into his interests isn't exactly what I spend my weekends doing."

Alina rolled her eyes, but didn't correct him. It didn't matter. Anyway, she'd been an Anastasia before—and an Olga and a Tatiana and a Natasha. At the end of the day, she'd answer to just about anything, Anastasia included.

"You jealous of your father, Tony?"

"I'm American, of course I'm jealous of my father—I hate him too—I'm just antsy with paternal resentment. Do you know Agent Romanoff? I bet you'd get along great with her…if you know what I mean."

"We were children together," Alina said off-handedly, looking over at Coulson again, who was laughing mutedly.

"See, now you got me thinkin' about little girls mud-wrestling. Why would you go and do a thing like that?"

For the second time, Alina was quiet. They would be meeting Steve Rogers soon so that she could assist in his transfer to a safe house where he would receive assimilation aid from the top cultural experts in the country. Tony Stark, while intriguing and wretchedly charming, wasn't why she was here.

"Hello?"

Alina jolted up. "What?"

"You aren't a very good spy are you?"

She sneered. "What did you say—you said something."

"I just asked if you'd seen the big lug yet? Have you seen Captain America? Is he dreamy?" Tony was giddy with delight, stomping his feet and clapping like a child.

"How did you know?" Alina whispered, leaning across the table and slanting her eyes.

"It's obvious—why else would you come in here all gung-ho, looking for files and folklore and whatnot? Let me ask you: is he still all handsome and rippling? Has he swept you off your feet? White horse and shield and all that? Or—I mean, it's been what? 70 years?—is he all old and crunchy and stowed away in some cave?"

"I haven't—I, uh,—we are headed that way now, as soon as we leave here."

"You are literally the worst spy ever—but you are hot. You'd wipe me clean if I weren't, well, me." Again, he flashed that cheeky smile.

"You are the most awesome ass."

"Well, thank you!" Tony cheered and thrust his fists into the air.

Alina rolled her eyes and smiled, "I think you may be ridiculous."

"You know—I may like you more than anyone I've met in the last ten years."

She laughed and kicked him under the table lightly.

"You'd better stop that—I'll just like you more."

Without any warning, as surprises always come, Coulson was upon them with his hand on Alina's back and his eye on Tony. "Thank you for your help Mr. Stark—Pepper. We'll be in touch. Ivanova—let's go."

By the time they were out of Stark Tower and in the car, Coulson was rifling through the twenty pound box of files and other memorabilia with delirious excitement. Picking things up with careful deliberance and examining them with precision. His work was calmer than normal, more steady and yet it was a touch bit frantic. Fifteen minutes passed, mindlessly driving in what seemed to involve driving around Times Square thirty times. "Agent Coulson, do you need my assistance with anything? What are you—looking for?"

Coulson waved her away frantically. "No, no. It's nothing, I'm just looking for, for something."

"Is it in the files?"

He was quiet then, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulled out a set of cards held together by a rubber band.

"What are these?" she asked, pulling them apart. They were like trading cards or baseball cards.

Taking them from her and fanning them out, Coulson smiled boyishly and traced his fingers over the muted colors. "Ivanova, this is Captain America."

With fascination on both their parts silencing them in a moment of reverence, there was a rapping on the glass that divided the cabin from the front of the car. "Sir, we're here." Staring up at the building, in nervous anticipation, a half-naked man sprang out.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Account of Alina Ivanova Regarding the Happenings Involving Steve Rogers' a.k.a. Captain America Escape and Flight from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters on 8/8/11.**

I wholly affirm that this account is the truest I can give.

X- Alina Ivanova

On the 8th of August, 2011, myself and Agent Phil Coulson witnessed the escape and flight of Steve Rogers. We aided, with little result, in the recovery of said involved. The particulars of the events of the day are this:

Agent Coulson and I, having just left Stark Tower where we received informative files regarding Mr. Rogers from Mr. Stark, had pulled up to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters at roughly fourteen hundred hours. It was there that we first encountered Mr. Rogers, breaking out of S.H.I.E.L.D. custody and making off into the streets. It should be noted that Mr. Rogers, appeared to be without a shirt, though he proved to be moderately clothed. Behind him trailed a half dozen agents, two of whom (Director Nick Fury and Agent Maria Hill) joined us in our car and the pursuit of Mr. Rogers, through the streets of New York began. We caught Mr. Rogers in an overwhelmed state approximately four blocks away from S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters in the middle of Times Square. It was Director Fury who approached Mr. Rogers and convinced him to return with us, in our car, to Headquarters.

I affirm that my testament is recorded as just as I have perceived it.

X- Alina Ivanova

**S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. New York City, New York. 8-8-11. 18:20.**

Steve Rogers, through shaken, had introduced himself calmly, extending a hand, smiling and saying, "Hi, I'm Steve."

Alina, who had been recently abandoned by the reluctant Coulson, replied in the like, missing his hand shake awkwardly and smiling a bit too goofily. Fury had decided that it wasn't necessary that Steve be restrained and, because of such, the five agents in the room were lightly on edge. Alina was admittedly less cool in hot situations as Natasha proved to be, but she was still the most outwardly cool agent in the room—despite her slips. The other agents were beside themselves, nearly like school girls, constantly asking if he needed anything or wanted to do something. Steve sat calmly on the bed that had been assembled in his mock-40's cells while the others packed themselves into chairs or peered into the hole he'd erupted through.

"I know you guys are just doing your jobs, but would you mind babysitting a little less closely?" Steve asked, looking meekly stressed by the company.

Alina nodded and gestured for others to leave. "I have orders to stay with you—I'm the captain of your guard. So—."

"Yeah, that's fine," Steve replied, repositioning himself on the bed—his legs extended.

He looked over to Alina, who was gazing out into nothing, seemingly unaware of the situation that had uncoiled around her and content with her new mission. "What did you say your name was?" He asked, smiling boyishly.

"Oh—um—Alina Ivanova," she blurted out ineloquently.

"Are you a Soviet?"

"Russian."

Steve had an expression of concern and confusion.

"The U.S.S.R. was dissolved in 1991. Now Russia is Russia and Ukraine is Ukraine and Poland is—well, you know what I mean. I was two when the U.S.S.R. fell."

He smiled, almost reminiscently and shrugged, "I'm not exactly up on my current events it would seem." He gestured to the outside chaos with the genteel flick of his wrist.

"It's hard to keep up when you live in it," Alina replied reassuringly, "I miss a lot."

"You look young to an agent," Steve said haphazardly.

"I'll be 23 next month—I'm not so young."

"I'm 25, well, I was 25. Now I'm more like 95." He was quiet, reflexive. "What does Uncle Sam have planned for me?"

"You'll be reconditioned to adapt to the world—I'm taking you to a safe house where we will begin teaching you the ways of the twenty-first century world."

"You'll be teaching me?"

Alina paused, blushed, "Oh no—no, I won't. I'm just here to protect you."

He smiled, "I'm not exactly a little lamb, you know."

Alina blushed redder.

"Where is this safe house, exactly?"

"I haven't been given the coordinates yet."

Steve seemed pacified. He leaned back onto his bed and closed his eyes. Alina watched as his breathing became slowed and wondered how he could sleep with all that was going on around him. Then erupted a peculiar thought: how _was_ she going to protect him? He was Captain America—the first _super_hero. What was she? She was a spy with little experience and too much baggage.

"You know, you pucker your lips when you're thinking," Steve said, jolting her out of her transfixion.

"No, I didn't know that," she replied, casting her eyes away from him.

She stood and walked to the gaping hole he'd left in the wall. What kind of power house was he? She pressed her shoulder lightly into the wall, simulating her own attempt at eruption through the plaster. She leaned against the wall as Steve sat closed and silent. Alina smiled despite herself and closed her eyes.

"You have an itch there, Ivanova?" Fury shouted in his normal speaking voice.

Alina jumped and turned to the S.H.I.E.L.D. director, "No, sir. I was just—."

"I need to speak to you in the hall," Fury said, motioning to the silent Steve who was watching them disinterestedly.

"Yes, sir," she replied and followed him out of the room and into the hall.

From the eruption of Captain America an hour earlier the hall was rippled with chaos. The tiles on the ceiling were disheveled and the lights were flickering on and off. There was a lady picking up pages that had flown out of a topped filing cabinet. Seeing her astonishment, Fury said, "He's practically a juggernaut."

"You're telling me."

"Now there's this situation of what to do with the Captain."

"I assume the plan was that I was to escort Rogers to a safe house."

"And what do you think would happen after that?"

"I await your orders," Alina said with a smile in a drone's voice.

"Huh," Fury quirked the eyebrow above his patch and frowned, "Well, I've been having trouble figuring out what those are."

"Sir?"

"The safe house we arranged is… not going to work out. The events today have proved to us that our original tactics aren't going to work."

Alina stood silent. Was she supposed to suggest something? Fury sighed from the bottom of his stomach and blew it out his mouth with puckered lips. Alina shifted her weight from her left foot to the right and crossed her arms across her chest.

"So here's what I was thinking," he began, looking as caution as a one-eyed man can look, "I was thinking—now, don't say anything until I'm done—but you could take him back to Arkansas with you for a few weeks."

"Back to Arkansas?" Alina was stunned, "I'm not going back to Arkansas until Christmas—you want me to take him to Arkansas?"

"Yes."

"Where is he supposed to stay?"

"He could stay with your family."

Alina was again silent.

"I mean, your family would like him—he's so…so American."

"With all respect, I don't think so."

"It isn't a choice," he replied, thrusting a file into her hands containing the specifics of the _reason for being in Arkansas_, "Good luck."

With that, Fury walked back over to the gaping hole and spoke congenially with Steve, laughing fakely. Alina was left there, standing quietly and wrinkling the edges of the folder. She sat down against the wall and opened the folder. Inside were two different profiles: profile A and profile B.

Alina's family, hard-working and newly nationalized Americans, didn't know _what_ she did. They knew she worked in New York and that she traveled a lot and she'd always been secluded so that didn't worry when they would here from her for weeks at a time. They saw her rarely. Her parents though she was the executive assistant to some or another Russian delegate in the U.N.

The first profile—profile A—read this:

As you know, your cousin is getting married in Little Rock in two weeks (actually, she didn't know that). You and Steve, who will be poising as a fellow U.N. employee, will arrive at 19:00 on flight 3646 United from LaGuardia to Washington, D.C. to the Little Rock National Airport. Steve will poise as your significant other and date to your cousins wedding. You have been together for 14 months and decided to pool your vacation days to go meet your family. See attached page for further specifics.

Profile B:

You and Steve, still poising as coworkers, have agreed to go to visit your family while the Russian delegate is on vacation. Steve agreed to join you in Arkansas as his parents are in Mexico and his has an interest in Southern communities. While you will attend your cousin's wedding together and spend much of your time together, you will focus on a maintaining a platonic relationship. You will instead emphasize your friendship, explaining why Steve would spend an extended amount of time with your family. See attached page for further specifics.

Alina laughed at how ridiculous it was. Obviously, and resentfully, profile B would be the choice. Hands down. She sat there, staring down and laughing to herself, when a shadow eclipsed the blinking lights. She looked up, praying Fury was back, laughing and revealing the prank. But now, it was Steve, smirking boyishly. Crouched down over her files, Alina appreciated the massive size of Captain America. It was like he could block out the sun. His sandy hair haloed around his head and his blue eyes scorched down at her. His arm alone, was a thick as her.

They were in complete contrast. While Steve was tall, his file said he was over six feet, Alina was a tiny 5'1. He was tan and so American looking. She had the bulbous lips, blue eyes and dark hair of an Eastern European. Unlike Natasha, Alina didn't even have curves or curls. The only similarity between the two was only that they were both masculine. It was obvious for Steve, he was _Captain America_—man by definition, but for Alina it was more in her center of gravity and manner of walking. Steve had eyes that pierced, Alina, though she had blue as blue as his, weren't as gripping—not her left eye anyway. Her right eye had a large gold dot next to the pupil called a heterochromia. She wore a contact over it though. It wasn't exactly a feature that helped her blend in.

And there he was—she'd nearly forgotten him, but there he was, smiling.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Our assignment," Alina said, flabbergasted.

"Our assignment?"

"Take a look!" Alina shouted with a nervous giggle and passed him the files as he sank to her level.

After a few minutes of reading, Steve came up for air and said, "Significant Other?"

"That would not be the option we're taking."

He laughed again, "Arkansas?"

"Yeah, it's next to Texas."

"I know where Arkansas is."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Alina smiled and laughed for a moment, "Arkansas it is."

Authorial Note:

Hey Guys,

While I don't really think of myself as the kind of writer who "takes requests," seeing the consensus asking for longer stories, I'll try my best to comply.

Thanks for the support and reviews,

Wonder1258


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